


The Smell of Home

by Quarra



Series: Home for a Stray [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Burns, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Depressed Steve, Dissociation, Facefucking mentioned in passing, Fanart, Gang Rape, HTP, HYDRA Trash Party, Hopeful Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra Trashbook 2, Isolation, Kitty!Bucky, M/M, Marking, Most of the terrible things happen in flashbacks, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Genetic Modification, Now with NSFW Fanart embedded, Pet Play, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Recovery, Ring gag, Scars, Team as Family, Torture, Toys mentioned in passing, petting, traumatic flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra
Summary: Months have passed since Project Insight was stopped, but Steve still can't find Bucky. Steve blames himself for what's happened to his friend and worry beings to consume him. Then one cold night, Bucky shows up scratching at the window. But Bucky is far more damaged than he initially seems and it turns out that Steve was right to worry.





	The Smell of Home

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to cryo_bucky, tipsy kitty, and kinkajou for beta reading, and tons of thanks to the HTP folks for being so encouraging and kind.

Steve was bone tired and half frozen by the time he got to his apartment building in Brooklyn. As much as he loved doing charity work, loved seeing the smiling faces of people he was helping, Steve had begun to dread the endless series of events that now populated the Christmas season for him.

This year was so much worse. It wasn’t that his schedule was more hectic; Pepper had come through as she always did and managed to tame everything into a reasonably spread out itinerary of charity dinners, hospital visits, and public appearances. _God, I owe her. Maybe flowers. Do ladies still like flowers? Stark will know what she likes. Probably,_ Steve thought wearily.

No, this year was so much worse because he knew that Bucky was out there somewhere, alone, on the run, maybe hurt. Who was he kidding? Definitely hurt, if all of the past trauma from Hydra was taken into account.

_This is all my fault…_

Steve quickly shoved the guilt aside. He couldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t paid enough attention after Azzano to see that Bucky was struggling, that Zola did something to him on that lab table. Steve remembered how painful the Project Rebirth experiment was. He tried not to think about that pain stretched over the course of months, fighting through a grueling war while feeling his bones remaking themselves. He tried not to think about how hungry he was after the serum and how Bucky always shoved him part of his own rations. _Gotta feed that bottomless pit you call a face,_ he’d say.

Steve tried not to think about the train. How he’d failed his best friend, the most important person in the world. He tried not to think of the ferocious visage of the Winter Soldier; totally covered by black Kevlar complete with hood, mask, and goggles all while murderously strutting across a field of destruction. Empty. Devoid of the spark that made him human.

Steve slogged through six inches of slush to get into his building. The apartment building was nice, but not so fancy that Steve felt uncomfortable being there. He picked this place out specifically because he liked the space; the way the sun came through huge living room windows, the way the neighborhood seemed alive and friendly. Steve’s apartment was on the top floor. Easier to meet up with a pick-up on the roof if he needed, and fewer neighbors to share walls with. Occasionally his dreams weren’t kind to him. Frequently, if he was being honest with himself.

Christmas was in two days and Steve had never felt so disheartened by it. Tony had invited him to the tower tomorrow night to share the holiday with the rest of the Avengers. Well, Tony had invited him to come live at the tower permanently in the floor that was made just for him but Steve needed the privacy of his own space. So barring that, the occasional social get-together with the team was probably a good idea.

_“Come on, Cap. It’s not like any of us have other people to see for the holidays. I mean, other than Wilson, but whatever. We’re better. More fun. Cooler toys. Be there! I mean it.”_

The first couple years after the ice, team holidays helped keep him going in this crazy future world. This year, though, he wasn’t sure he could take the knowing looks. The well meant sympathy. They all knew he was looking for Bucky and coming up with absolutely nothing. They were supportive, more than he had any right to expect, but it wasn’t hard to see that no one thought he would really be successful. If the Winter Soldier didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.

Hell, he was pretty sure Natasha didn’t think Bucky _should_ be found.

Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew that Bucky wouldn’t be the same guy he knew growing up. The war changed everybody. Adding on everything Hydra did, well, Steve knew that Bucky would be having some problems. Steve didn’t care about any of that; the important part was that he would be _here_.

Steve had his own problems, too. They could work on them together.

The apartment was cold when he walked in. After the ice, Steve always felt the cold a little more keenly. Not that he couldn’t withstand it when he needed to; he just noticed it more and did his best to avoid it. He cranked up the thermostat and collapsed on his couch and stared at the blank screen of his TV.

The future was such a wearying place. Steve was glad to be able to make a difference, to help people the way he always wanted to when he was a kid. But nothing seemed right anymore. Everything was too loud, too fast, too bright. He felt like there was a great aching void in his chest. When he was with his team, or Peggy, or out doing the job, Steve felt like he could ignore it. Patch over that hole with the things that needed doing now and with the still-growing camaraderie of the Avengers.

Seeing Bucky had ripped that hole right open again and caused it to swell and swallow the world in bleak emptiness.

Steve just really missed his friend.

He missed knowing that the people in charge were really doing their honest best to do what was right. He missed the simplicity of certainty. God, times like this he really missed his ma; her soft hand on his head when he was sick. The way she would sing old Irish lullabies under her breath while she was cooking. The smell of her perfume mixed with disinfectant from her shifts at the hospital.

The Avengers were his friends, or close enough at least, and Sam was his friend too, but deep down Steve missed feeling loved by someone. Not for what he could do or how strong he was, but just because they knew him better than he knew himself.

Decades away from his childhood, he could admit to himself that he loved Bucky. He would have married Peggy, had a life with her and everything that goes with it, but he didn’t want to do it without Bucky at his side. If that isn’t love, Steve isn’t sure what would qualify.

He sat in the dark of his living room for quite a while; lost in his own head and wishing he could get warm.

Steve came back to himself hours later. The soft glow of city lights reflected off of newly fallen snow illuminated the room in a dull orange light. A dull scratching sound from his balcony window was what woke him.

A figure was hunched over in the snow next to the window.

Steve’s chest tightened. He couldn’t get air into his lungs. Did the asthma come back?

It seemed to take forever to get to the sliding glass door. The world was made of molasses. As soon as it was open the dark clad figure slipped in. A heavy bag dropped in front of where he crouched on the floor and sleet and snow encrusted his hood covered head.

“Bucky…” Steve breathed.

The crouched figure stole a quick glance up at Steve out of the corner of his eye before nodding.

Steve enfolded him in a desperate hug. Bucky sat frozen under him, not even shivering in his wet clothes. The ache in Steve’s heart grew.

“It’s okay, Buck. Everything is gonna be okay now. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad,” Steve murmured softly. He couldn’t help but clutch at his friend, nearly shaking from the different emotions raging through him. After a long agonizing moment, Bucky very gently tilted his face toward Steve’s neck and laid his head on Steve’s shoulder.

They sat there until the ice on Bucky’s jacket had long turned into a puddle on the floor; Bucky clutching the bag in front of him, breathing in Steve’s scent as Steve knelt next to Bucky holding on for dear life, whispering reassurances for both of them.

Bucky shivered.

_Shit_ , Steve thought. _Here I am clinging to him and he’s so cold he’s nearly a solid block. Stupid, stupid, stupid Rogers._ Steve withdrew and tried to get a good look at his friend’s face. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the floor with only the occasional furtive glance to give his nervousness away.

“Why don’t we get that wet coat off of you…”

Bucky flinched hard away from Steve’s outstretched hands.

“Or not. That’s fine too. Hey. Hey, look at me. It’s alright. Come on in to the kitchen and I’ll put some soup on for you. Get you all warmed up.”

Steve made his way toward the kitchen, reluctant to let Bucky out of his sight. He quickly grabbed a couple large cans of soup from the pantry and set to work heating them up. When he turned around, Bucky was kneeling on the floor next to the table, head bowed.

“Oh. Oh no, Bucky,” he said softly, but the moment he said the word ‘no’, Bucky had flinched hard and ducked his head further. Steve suddenly realized that Bucky expected punishment. He knelt next to Bucky again and held out his arms. He wanted to touch, but he didn’t know if he should.

“You’re alright, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not unhappy. I’ll never hurt you, I swear. You don’t ever need to worry about that,” he whispered.

Bucky risked another quick glance up at him and then relaxed his shoulders. Steve mentally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Come on, sit at the table here.” He pulled out a nearby chair. Bucky looked warily back and forth between him and the chair, but eventually moved to sit in it. Steve noted he sat very gingerly, as if the chair might be pulled out from under him.

He felt a ridiculous burst of rage towards Hydra; so hot he could probably melt the sun with the heat of it. Before that thought could get away from him he schooled his features. The last thing in the world he wanted was for Bucky to misinterpret his anger.

The instant soup heated up fast. By the time he was done toasting and buttering some bread, it was steaming hot. He served up a huge bowl and a nice stack of toast and set it in front of Bucky.

Bucky didn’t even look at it. He just sat there, hands on his knees, looking down so the hood covered up his face.

“Go ahead, Bucky. Dig in. And there’s more if you want more,” Steve said.

After only a single inquisitive glance from under his hood, Bucky picked up the bowl and just started drinking out of it. Steve had a second bowl ready for him when he finished the first. The next several minutes passed in silence as Bucky practically inhaled the hot food in front of him.

There was an awkward moment after he finished. Steve wasn’t quite sure what to say and Bucky still hadn’t said a word.

Steve picked up the dishes and put them all in the sink. He’d clean them up later. Looking over at the table, Bucky still sat like his chair was going to explode; both hands gripped to the side of the seat, head bowed again, and shoulders tense. The hood covered up so much of his face that all Steve could see of him was the ends of his long hair hanging out of the opening.

He still looked cold.

“Buck, can I draw you a bath? You look like a nice hot soak would do you good. If you want.”

The hesitant look that Bucky gave Steve decided him. It was something between want and suspicion; like maybe this was some kind of trap.

God, he hated Hydra so much.

“Yeah. Bath is a good idea. Come on, I’ll start up the water for you.”

He made his way to the master bathroom, again hoping that Bucky would follow him. The guest room had a bathtub, but it was standard size where as the master bath had an enormous claw-foot tub that Steve had scrounged up at a flea market. It was big enough that even he could soak up to his neck and was worth every bit of pain in the ass it had been to get it moved to his apartment and installed.

Steve picked up a stack of towels from the hall linen closet before he made his way to the bathroom. After he got the water running pleasantly hot he popped in the rubber drain stopper and leaned on the edge of the tub for a moment; watching it slowly fill up.

Excitement and anxiety and upset all swirled around inside of him. Bucky was there in the apartment with him, but he seemed so…damaged. Afraid. Afraid of _Steve_ , even, and Steve would rather die than hurt Bucky.

He would just have to prove it to his friend. Trust took time to build, and Steve had nothing but time. Little things added up over time and eventually maybe Bucky would feel safe again.

When Steve turned around he was floored.

Bucky was kneeling next to him, completely naked. His hands were fisted and set on the floor next to his knees and his head was bowed.

The nudity was surprising and the posture was troubling, but that’s not why Steve was shocked. They grew up together, lived in the same apartment for years, and served in the same army unit; they had seen each other naked.

No, what was shocking was what had become of Bucky’s body.

Steve’s mind refused to make sense of it at first. There was something on Bucky’s head and wrapped around his too-skinny thigh. Furry things. Eventually he figured it out.

Cat ears and a long furry tail.

Bucky had cat ears and a long furry tail. Both were deep brown; the ears were edged in black and the floofy tail was striped black.

That would have been startling enough, but the longer Steve looked the more details swam into focus.

Scars. Scars _everywhere_ , all with varying levels of freshness. The sides of his legs and torso were lined with tally marks. Nearly every available surface had some amount of lash marks. Circular burns were scattered around his abs and limbs. _Cigarette burns_ , Steve’s mind supplied. Long jagged knife wounds mixed with old needle marks and bullet holes.

There were words, _words_ , carved into him. Terrible things.

_Pussy Cat._

_Aim Here._

_BR wz here._

And around his neck was a deep scarred band. _That must be where they kept him collared_ , Steve thought faintly.

On top of all that, Bucky was terrifyingly thin. Wiry muscle still wrapped around his frame, but there wasn’t even a pennyweight's worth of fat on him anywhere. He looked emaciated.

Steve sat there with his jaw dropped in horror.

This was so much worse than anything he could have imagined, even after he looked at the threadbare file that Natasha had scrounged up for him.

It was the trembling that shook Steve out of his stupor. Bucky was trembling and Steve really didn’t think it was from cold.

“Oh, Bucky,” he whispered. He felt like his soul was being ripped in two. The person who mattered most to him in the whole world had been abused more than Steve could even fathom, and _it was his fault_.

He shuffled closer to Bucky; slowly enough that Bucky could move away if he wanted. Steve hoped, anyways. As gently as he could he put one hand on Bucky’s neck and bumped their heads together.

The scar there was rough, like a burn, and when Steve got close to Bucky’s head the cat ears twitched.

_Holy shit, they’re real. How can they be real?_ he thought to himself. Steve had never heard of anything like it, and considering how often he spent time with Bruce and Tony and how often they all fought deranged science projects, that was really saying something.

What did they do to him?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, crying. “I’m so, so sorry.”

\--

As soon as Bucky realized he was _Bucky_ as well as the Asset, he knew that at some point he’d have to go to meet Steve. After months of hiding and trying to piece his mind back together, Bucky finally gave up the fight.

Even if Steve was just like Hydra, at least Bucky would be taken care of. Steve would give him what he deserved and make sure that he only hurt people who needed to be hurt.

And if that wasn’t the case, then at least then Bucky would know what to expect. If he were lucky, though, maybe Steve would feed him at least semi-regularly. Maybe he’d try to make it feel good.

From the flickers of memory that kept popping up, Bucky thought that Steve would probably be the type to try and make it feel good. Maybe if Bucky behaved, Steve wouldn’t share him either.

Bucky would like it if he just belonged to Steve. It was so much easier to service one person rather than a group and the idea of belonging to Steve gave him a weird fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

He was betting that Steve would make it feel good.

And he was tired of being cold and wet and hungry. He was also tired of hurting, but nothing would change that. A certain amount of pain was standard.

So he watched and followed, and one night when Steve was alone in his apartment, he swallowed down his terror and made the approach.

When Steve welcomed him into the apartment, Bucky was determined to be a good kitty. He would give Steve no reasons to punish him.

The first thing Steve did was hug him. When it didn’t go further than that, Bucky allowed himself to take in Steve’s scent; it set him at ease in a way nothing had in all of his memory.

It shouldn’t have. Bucky got his modifications well into his time with Hydra. He shouldn’t have remembered what Steve smelled like and that he smelled like home. But he did.

And then Steve fed him. At first he thought it might be a trick; something to get him to disobey standing orders and thus be open to punishment. But Steve just gave him soup and buttered bread until he was full to bursting with it.

After that, though, Bucky waited for orders. He sat in the chair. It was hard to keep back the muscle memory from his training, especially once he didn’t have his hunger to focus on. He kept expecting the shock collar to activate even though he wasn’t even wearing it any more.

The furniture training made sure he knew that chairs were for people, and he wasn’t a person. He was a weapon and a toy. If he was lucky, some days he was a pet. He knew his place. The only reason he should be at a table was if he was bent over it. But here he was, sitting at a table eating dinner like he was a person.

When Steve suggested a bath, Bucky knew it was time for him to pay for his dinner. He was ready, and after a meal like that he was more certain that Steve wouldn’t make him bleed when he finally did get around to fucking Bucky.

Steve would be a good owner and Bucky would do his best to be a good kitty.

Bucky didn’t remember if they did this before the war, but he thought it might be possible. While he stripped off his clothes, he tried to dredge up some memory from the past to give him an idea of what he could expect. The best he could come up with was a fleeting feeling of wrapping an arm around skinny shoulders.

So while Steve fixed the bath, Bucky assumed the correct position.

It nearly hurt to kneel like this again after so long of being alone. The warm rug against his knees reminded him of Pierce’s bathroom. Pierce liked to leave Bucky kneeling while he cleaned himself up after the day was done.

He was so lost in the thought that he didn’t notice that Steve had turned around to talk to him. There was the rug beneath him and the steam from the shower (bath?) and then Pierce’s hand on his neck rubbing his collar (scar).

Any moment now he would tilt up Bucky’s head and Bucky would present his mouth like a good kitty and lick up whatever was offered to him; dick, fingers, soap, plug, whatever. He had his very own plastic and steel ring gag that he wore when he wasn’t muzzled. Not only did it cover up his sharp canine teeth, but it was a reminder that at any time he could be of use to those around him.

Pierce liked a hard rough face-fuck in the morning, something to wake himself up. But at night he liked to play…

But there was a forehead on his and it was Steve and that smell of home again.

“…so, so sorry, Bucky. This is all my fault.”

Bucky blinked at the words. He didn’t understand.

He didn’t dare move. Moving without permission meant a brutal fucking if he was lucky. If he wasn’t, well…Bucky spied any number of things that could be used to make him bleed. Or burn.

If he could choose, he’d pick the bleeding. Burns hurt longer, especially if they were internal. They were in a bathroom, which meant that there might be a curling iron hidden somewhere. Easy to heat up and already the right shape for insertion.

Pierce’s predecessor had enjoyed curling irons.

A hand carded through his hair and brushed past his ears. He wanted to melt into that touch, it felt so damn good. Rumlow used to like to pull his ears and, if they were done with a mission, break his tail. Pierce would reward him with a good head pat, but only after the most grueling of nights and only if Bucky pleased everyone present at least twice.

Steve. Right. He was with Steve. Steve who smelled like home and who fed him soup and bread and who probably wouldn’t be that rough.

“Bucky. Bucky, please talk to me. Please.” Steve sounded so broken, so damn sad, that Bucky wanted to comply. But honestly it seemed like another trick. Bucky chose the safe course of action.

“Mrroow,” he said quietly.

Steve choked back a cry and held onto Bucky a little tighter. But he stopped running his hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky bit back a cry of dismay.

He had done poorly and now Steve was going to punish him. Maybe begging might help. Begging pretty much always went over well.

“Please.” The first word was rough after so long without speaking. He cleared his throated and tried again. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll be good. Just tell me what you want me to do. Please.”

He dared a glance up at Steve’s face. He saw relief mixing with pain and worry.

“You’re fine, Bucky. You’re doing just fine. I’m so glad you can talk. You can talk whenever you want, you don’t need to---you don’t need to meow unless you want to.” The petting started up again on Bucky’s head and he nearly melted from the pleasure of it. “I’ll give you anything you want, anything you need.”

Bucky leaned in toward Steve’s chest. This was so much better than he had anticipated. It was nearly impossible to stop a rusty rumble from emanating from his chest and throat. It wasn’t quite a purr, he couldn’t do that, but it was as close as he could come to it.

He could feel Steve’s breath hitch, but the scratching didn’t stop so Bucky didn’t worry about it.

“I’m gonna make sure no one ever hurts you again. I’d do anything for you, Bucky. Anything,” he mumbled into Bucky’s ears.

And, oddly enough, Bucky kind of wanted to believe him.

Even Pierce, with all his flowery words about changing the future and being important, never bothered to offer words of comfort. Just duty or punishment. And Steve’s promises didn’t have the cruel mockery that Rumlow’s always did, nor did he bother with the degrading endearments.

Bucky hesitated for a moment and then shifted to lift his arms. Before he could commit to the action, though, he stopped.

He couldn’t stop the shudder that rippled through him. The Chair made everything hazy, but Bucky knew that moving without permission had gotten him thrown onto his stomach, tied up, and used by everyone in that facility. They kept count with the little hash marks on his ass. When they ran out of space there they moved to his legs and his back.

For a moment he was there; tail tied to the buckle side of his ring gag, back arched, and taking it over and over again. He was sloppy with it. They left him there for days, just to make sure everyone had a chance. Once every few hours they would hose him down; too much crusted come and blood became unappealing after a while. Afterwards they locked him in a tight little cage in the floor and just rolled a carpet over him.

It was dark and small and he was hurt so bad. He had no idea how long he stayed in the dark…

Steve was talking to him again, low and quiet. Carefully petting his ears and running one hand up and down his metal arm.

“…you’re alright. You’re with me, here in New York. In my apartment. There was soup and bread and nothing here will ever hurt you. You’re alright…”

Another shudder rolled through him and he nodded; both in acknowledgement of what Steve was saying and to push his head further under Steve’s hand. The scratching intensified and Bucky released a shaky breath.

He soaked up the affection for another moment and then reached his hands up to gently cling to Steve.

There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, but the words died on his tongue. In the end the best he could do was beg again.

“Please let me be yours?” he whispered.

Steve held him closer and Bucky could feel hot wet tears dripping down into his hair.

“Yeah, Bucky. You’ll always be mine. No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll kill them first.”

Bucky could hear the grim determination in his voice.

He wanted to believe.

He wanted to so very badly.


End file.
